


The Enterprise gang

by Ponn_near_Ponn_fahr_Ponn_whereveryouare



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Animated Series, Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Australia, Alternate Universe - Historical, BAMF Nyota Uhura, Bush Medicine, Could probably be rated t but rated m to be safe, F/M, Guns, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, My First AO3 Post, My First Fanfic, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Pon Farr, Slow Burn, Tarsus IV, bush rangers, why isn't there a tag for that?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:54:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28647888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponn_near_Ponn_fahr_Ponn_whereveryouare/pseuds/Ponn_near_Ponn_fahr_Ponn_whereveryouare
Summary: They had been walking in an approximate circle for some time now, and they had reached their starting point. Kirk began to walk inward and Spock followed suit.‘In that case, Mister Spock,’ Kirk said, his eyes agleam, ‘Welcome to being a bushranger. It’s excruciating. You’ll love it.’The tips of Spock’s lips twitched and Kirk knew in that moment he’d give anything for the other man to smile fully.When James T. Kirk, a young bush ranger, risks his life to save a man he's never met, the lives of those in the Enterprise gang are forever changed. Pretty much what it says in the tags.Also, I sadly don't own Star Trek, and I also am sadly not making money from this.
Relationships: Christine Chapel/Roger Korby, James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Alcohol and mild violence

Spock didn’t usually visit places where people were drunk. He found that inebriated humans behaved even more irrationally than usual. However, whenever he refused to attend events where this took place, he found that people were often offended.

‘More whiskey?’ slurred a man with a large red beard, offering the bottle.

‘No thank you,’ Spock replied.

The bearded man began chugging. Without thinking, Spock began to pry the bottle off him. He’d grab it, nerve pinch the other man and take him to an inn. He could feel the other man’s emotions bleeding out of him like watercolour paint. Spock shuddered and pulled the bottle out of his grasp.

‘Oi!’

A hit to his shoulder. He grabbed Spock’s hat and pulled it off, revealing two pointed ears.

‘DEMON!’ the man screamed. Spock froze, which was illogical. He reached out to take the hat, before being hit with something. He should have been more aware of his surroundings. He was still conscious, although he didn’t know how long that would last, but too dazed to retaliate to the mayhem going on around him. He was half conscious of thick ropes being tied around his wrists and legs and the feeling of the masochistic satisfaction of justice being served, leaking out of the drunk men surrounding him.

‘Burn him,’ suggested one man.

Spock started to feebly strain against the ropes and was hit again.

‘We could throw him in the lake,’ suggested someone else.

‘We got any wood?’

‘It’s not worth wasting it, just throw him in.’

So this is how he would die then. At the amusement of a drunk party. At his own carelessness and the malice buried inside every human. It was fitting, he supposed, that he should die this way. Half human, born on Vulcan and died on earth. They would not remember him, or if they did, it would be as a warning, a kind of cautionary tale to Vulcans who strayed outside what their community expected of them, or to those who thought any good would come of mixing human and Vulcan blood. Born as a freak and dying as a freak.

‘Get some rocks.’

They started to weigh him down, then started dragging him to the lake. A bleak sense of inevitability sunk in. He would die unloved. His katra would not be joined to another. This was it. He could hear drunken giggling, smell the muddy eucalyptus of the Victorian bushland, feel the ropes rubbing painfully against his legs, and yet it was like he was not there at all. He was dropped into the muddy water and began to sink under. A human would panic, but he was not human. He’d die with at least some semblance of Vulcan dignity.

His lungs began to burn, and his thoughts became disordered, scattered, and consciousness began to slip from him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A foozler was someone who did something clumsily, or made a lot of mistakes.

Roger Korby was not a particularly likable man unless a) you listened to a lot of legends, b) you were a hungry, dissatisfied man looking for a way out of the system or c) you were Christine Chapel. In fact, Kirk thought Chistine and Roger had an idyllic mid 1800’s relationship- if you looked past the fact the two of them carried guns, often went without food and, to put it bluntly, criminals. Still, they had their romantic moments. Looking out at the setting sun over the (very dirty) lake, they could talk about their plans and dreams. 

Sulu, meanwhile, was cleaning his weapons and practicing english. Languages had never been his strength, but he knew it could come down to a matter of life or death. He had a sizable collection of weapons: a revolver, a spare, smaller revolver, an antique-looking dagger and a longsword, all of which were in mint condition. He’d also been lent Chekov’s gun, or rather Chekov had bribed him to clear it with Vodka. The Russian was helping Bones out with the horses, one of whom, by the name of Fairy, who had a stone in her hoof.

Kirk and Scotty played cards. The deck was tattered and missing a seven of spades, but it made no difference to them. Suddenly, drunken shouting in the distance made them look up.

‘What on the lord’s green earth is that?’ Scotty wondered aloud. It appeared to be a group of people dragging something… or someone.

‘Blazes,’ Jim muttered, walking closer. He could make out the person, dark haired and tied up.

‘Jim,’ said Korby, concerned.

‘What?’

‘Don’t do anything rash.’

Kirk hesitated. One part of him- the part hardened by Tarsus and led by Korby, seemed to be saying  _ Now’s not the time to play hero,  _ but another, deeper instinct, said  _ you can’t let him die. _

Kirk trusted his instinct. He ran.

‘Jim, no!’ Korby shouted, but there was nothing he could do.

Jim reached the drunken mob, panting, then walked towards the lake, gun drawn. The men surrounding him were somewhat taken aback, deciding what to do. The lake water was surprisingly shallow and Kirk only needed to wade up to his waist to find the man. Struggling slightly, he pulled him out, taking care not to wreck his gun. He might need it.

The man in his arms was handsome-long, slight and covered in mud and rope.  _ How could anyone do this?  _ He wondered, but he knew- alcohol.

‘Step aside, gentlemen,’ Kirk snarled. They obeyed him with surprisingly little resistance. Whilst he walked back, he checked the pulse of the other man. It was slow, but not non-existent.

‘James Tiberius Kirk, you foozler,’ Korby began, exasperated, ‘ What do you think you’re doing? You didn’t know they weren’t armed, or weren’t… who’s that?’

‘I don’t know. Do you think Bones could help him?’

‘We’ll see. He’s near the back with the horses.’

‘Alright.’

The gang were staying in a small house which belonged to an old friend of Kirk’s- Kevin Riley. They had no stable or barn for the horses, but there was a shelter for them if the weather got too cold. It was cold now, and wet too- the ground soft from yesterday’s rain.

‘Oi Bones!’ Jim called.

‘Give me five minutes,’ Bones shouted back. The horse whinnied.

Kirk waited until he was under the makeshift shelter before untying the unfortunate man. It was only then that he noticed his ears. They were intriguingly pointed and Kirk wondered if he was born with them.

‘Alright, I’m done.’

‘Can you take a look at him, Bones?’

‘Alright.’

Bones didn’t have much medical equipment, but he made do with what he had. 

‘He’s going to be alright… I think.’

‘What do you mean you think, aren’t you a doctor?’

‘Yes, but there’s something strange about him. I just can’t put my finger on it. We’ll need to keep him warm for now, though, let’s go inside.’

Chekov came running.

‘Doctor, I’ve finished brushing Fairy! Oh, hello Kirk!’

‘Hello!’

‘Would you like help carrying zis, uh… man?’

‘No thank you.’

It was funny how little the Russian questioned it. Once again, Kirk cradled the unconscious man in his arms and took him inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Please leave kudos if you did and feel free to leave a comment. Corrections are welcome. On a totally unrelated note, I just watched the Wrath of Khan for the first time and it was amazing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Character death  
> Yes, Australian winters are cold. Especially in Victoria. Also, a swag is a type of bag swung onto one's shoulder.

At around dawn, James Tiberius Kirk woke to the sound of Russian singing and kookaburras. 

‘Damn it, Chekov,’ he muttered- the Russian had lately taken to getting up early- before brushing against… cold skin? It was strange, having someone else in his bed, but he wasn’t about to let another man sleep on the cold floor in the middle of an Australian winter if he could help it. He knew Bones would have done it in a heartbeat- despite the reputation of surgeons and other doctors at the time, he’d never met a man more caring. Still, he felt somewhat… protective towards this stranger, though he didn’t know why. He was starting to be weak. It was stupid of him to endanger the gang like that. He really should know better. Sighing, he stretched and got up, leaving the stranger in the bed.

‘Good morning, Mr Chekov. Have you finished your Opera?’ he greeted his friend sardonically.

‘Ah… hello, Kirk!’ Pavel grinned, a little guiltily. 

‘Nice day!’

Jim looked out the window- it was cloudy and it looked like there was going to be more rain. There was also wind howling and gum leaves blowing everywhere. Then again, from what he’d heard, it was colder in Russia.

‘Hey, Christine, are you awake?’ Korby said loudly. He didn’t believe in whispering- if he woke other people, that was their problem.

‘I am now,’ she murmured.

He laughed.

‘Good.’

He put an arm around her and she relaxed into it, curling a lock of his hair in her fingers. He let out a contented sigh.

‘We should get married.’

‘When?’ she said, humoring him. They both knew it was out of the question- that setting foot in a church would probably result in death by hanging, gunshot or a crucifiction to rival that of Jesus Christ, but they couldn’t help but dream nevertheless. Christine felt well-suited to the lifestyle of a bushranger- it was at least more exciting then getting married and raising 10 children to work in the gold mines, but Roger did occasionally worry that it ‘wasn’t suitable’ for a young woman. Then again, in the eyes of society, it wasn’t suitable to be an outlaw, whatever gender you were.

‘Some time,’ he replied, trying to ignore Bones yelling at Chekov for singing too loudly.

‘The doctor sounds livid,’ she remarked.

‘And the sky is blue, the grass is green and the Pope is pious.’

Suddenly, there was a loud popping noise, like fireworks or… gunshots. Relaxation forgotten, the two lovers jumped out of their bed. 

‘You gather our supplies, I’ll go and get the others,’ said Roger immediately, running out of the room.

The gang prepared swiftly: everyone grabbed their swag and packed any extra supplies they had into them, drew and loaded their guns then all except Chekov assembled. Since the gunshot was coming from the front of the house, the Russian snuck through a small hole in the back and untied the horses, letting the golden ropes drop, then unlocking it from the outside

‘Blast it! I’ve forgotten the man!’ Kirk exclaimed.

‘What? Oh, I’ll help you,’ said Bones. The two of them ran back into the bedroom Kirk slept in and grabbed the stranger. Meanwhile, the men outside were continuing to try and force the door open, shooting it at odd intervals and pushing it. Kirk and McCoy carried the man together (he wasn’t light) and joined the rest of the gang, who were waiting for them. The gang started to move towards the back door. There was an even louder explosion and the sound of a door swinging open.

‘You go. I’ll hold them off,’ said Korby. Realising what this meant, Christine kissed him- quickly but passionately.

‘I love you,’ she whispered, her eyes full of tears. Then she took his swag and ran to catch up with the others.

‘I love you too,’ were the last words of Mister Roger Korby. He was shot dead just seconds after his last kiss.

  
Christine Chapel was usually a more than adequate horse rider. It was hard to ride, though, whilst crying. It had been Roger that had taught her to ride. It had been Roger who had introduced her to the gang in the first place. She’d left her whole family behind to be with him, risked everything, and he had done the same. Where was she now?  _ Who  _ was she? Wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her dress, she focused on her horse and the road ahead. Grieving could come when she was safe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave Kudos or comment if you enjoyed. Criticism and corrections/suggestions are welcome.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Food, religion

James T. Kirk was used to taking charge, so he assumed the role of leader almost instantly and ordered their travel on horseback. It was almost nightfall by the time they stopped. They moved through rain and biting winds and about 34 kilometres of bush land before they finally left their horses. Christine caught up fairly quickly to the rest of the group, and they made no comment on her tear stained face. In fact, they barely talked at all except to make sure everyone was keeping up. Eventually, they stopped at a small clearing.

Jim took a sheepskin out of his bag and handed it to Christine, who was shivering. Many of the others, including the stranger were wrapped simmilarly in sheepskin ‘blankets’.

‘Are you alright?’ he asked. She nodded.

‘Good. Gather ‘round, everyone.’

The rest of the gang obliged.

‘If nobody has any objections, we’re stopping here for tonight. Before we prepare, would someone like to… pray for Roger?’ he tried to seem aloof, the way the man he was mourning often had, but he failed miserably. He knew that prayer would offer little comfort for him, however, it may have comforted the others.

‘I’ll do it,’ said Scotty. They all bowed their heads solemnly.

‘Lord Jesus, our redeemer, You willingly gave yourself up to death so all men could be saved and pass from death into new life. We humbly ask for mercy for ourselves and our friend, Roger Korby and forgiveness of his sins. We thank you for the time we spent with him and pray, Lord,’ here his voice broke, ‘That you watch over him in heaven. Amen.’

‘Amen,’ said the others in unison.

‘Right. Scotty and Sulu, put the tents up. Bones, check on the stranger. Chekov, you and I can prepare some food- it’s too wet to light a fire,’ Kirk cut in.

‘Kirk, what should I do?’ Chapel asked.

Kirk looked over at the woman. Her face was determined and he knew it was hopeless trying to stop her from working.

‘Er… Check on the horses, please, Miss Chapel.’

She obliged. He walked over to Chekov, who was taking out various tins of food.

‘We’re going to have to ration our supplies,’ Kirk said. Chekov nodded.

‘Do we have any mutton left? I don’t think it will keep for very long,’ Jim asked.

‘Er… yes, I think we do. We could have it with some bread.’

‘Alright, then. Also, do you have any whiskey left? I have a feeling we’ll need it.’

‘Er… a little, sir.’

‘Excellent.’

The horses, despite their long (ish) journey were in relatively good form, so Christine decided to help with the tents. There were only 3 of them. Considering the fact that Kirk would probably insist she had one to herself, the rest of them were going to be a little cramped. Whilst she was putting up the final pole, Chekov and Kirk handed out food.

‘Do the horses have enough food?’ Pavel asked Christine.

‘They should be alright for now. I’ve given them some oats, but most of the plants around here are poisonous, I think. Thanks for the food.’

She took a bite. The bread was stale and the mutton was chewy, but she was ravenous and didn’t care. Kirk and Chekov then joined Bones.

‘How is he?’ Kirk asked, referring to the stranger.

‘Well, Jim, I’m not sure. I meant it last night when I said there was something strange about him. His blood, for one thing. I’ve never heard of a disease that could turn blood green. And his ears… there’s something almost devilish about them.’

‘That’s what the drunkards at the lake thought. They tried to drown him,’ Jim replied, stroking the stranger’s hand absently.

Bones stiffened.

‘I know. That’s horrible.’

‘It is.’

‘Still, Jim, there’s something odd about him.’

‘I guess we’ll have to wait and see,’ said Chekov. He took a bite of bread.

‘This is stale!’ he complained.

‘Have mine, it’s less stale,’ Bones said. He hadn’t touched his food yet and was still bent over the stranger, performing tests… or something. Hey- Jim wasn’t a doctor, he didn’t know what his friend was doing. All he knew was that he trusted him.

Spock first became he wasn’t dead when he started breathing. He hadn’t left the water a moment too soon- his lungs would have been filled with it if he’d stayed. But who had taken him? How? Spock didn’t know, so he focused on a healing trance. It wasn’t for anything major, but he’d broken his ankle and couldn’t trust it to heal naturally under current circumstances. He was aware of what was going on around him only like it was a half-remembered dream. Until a hand started stroking his. He focused on the warmth it gave him and knew it was time to end the trance.

‘Slap me,’ he muttered.

‘Hm?’ said a man- he didn’t know who.

‘Slap me,’ he said more clearly.

The man hesitated then started hitting his face- hard. After a couple of seconds he said:

‘That will be quite enough.’

His dark brown eyes flickered open and found themselves meeting a pair of green ones and he  _ knew,  _ though he didn’t know how he knew, that this man was the one that had been touching his hand.

‘James T. Kirk,’ said the man, extending a hand.

‘I am Spock,’ he replied, not knowing quite what it was that made him take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed! Please leave kudos if you did and leave a comment if you have suggestions, noticed a grammar/spelling mistake, want to rant for 3 paragraphs about a historical inaccuracy in my fic or have anything else you want to say- it's all welcome.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: food, mentions of medical stuff, but nothing too graphic

Spock shared a tent with Kirk and Bones, but he didn’t talk much. He was tired and had a headache, and declined when they offered him food. Vulcans might need less sleep than humans, but healing trances didn’t serve as a substitute. He did however, accept the water they offered him. The next morning, he agreed to go with Kirk to check the area and see if there was a nearby house they could live in or something of the sort. Unlike yesterday, it wasn’t raining.

‘So, Mister Spock, where are you from?’ Kirk asked conversationally, although he was deeply curious as to the answer.

‘It is unlikely that you would believe me if I were to tell you,’ Spock replied.

‘There’s only one way to know for sure- tell me.’

‘Alright. Are you aware of the existence of other planets?’

‘Yes, of course. I know there’s Mars, Neptune, Venus and Jupiter… and some other ones. Why?’

‘Have you heard of the theory that there could be life on one or more of those planets?’

‘Yes. It sounds strange, but so do kangaroos and they’re everywhere. Why? Are you one of those beings? Are you a martian, Mister Spock?’

There was a stunned silence as Spock tried to process the fact that he had so readily accepted that he was alien.

‘I am not from Mars, however I am alien to this planet. How could you tell?’

‘An educated guess, Mr. Spock.’

‘You must be exceptionally educated.’

‘Coming from a martian, that’s high praise,’ Kirk smirked.

‘I am from a planet called Vulcan.’

‘You’re a Vulcan, then. Vulcanian. Vulcanite? Regardless, it explains the green blood. And ears.’

He plucked the tip off a bracken and chewed it, wrinkling his nose a little at the taste.

‘Want some?’

Spock, somewhat hesitant, copied him, plucking off the tip of the bracken and chewing it. It tasted fibrous, but not particularly unpleasant.

‘I notice you don’t eat much. Vulcanian digestion?’ Kirk asked.

It was true that he hadn’t been eating, but he was as hungry as the rest of them. The problem was that they often consumed meat or fish as part of their meals, both of which he was unable to consume. This morning, he had been in luck, as Chekov and Sulu had volunteered their bread in exchange for his… crustacean. (he didn’t know what it was, but it didn’t take a genius to work out it was from an animal). They both refused to put up with any more stale bread and gave him the last of it. A symbiotic system.

‘Negative,’ he replied.

‘You’re not happy with the quality? I know it might not be what you’re used to, but-’

‘Negative. I am unable to consume meat, fish and poultry. I am vegetarian.’

‘Oh.’

He was silent for a minute, except for the leaves he was crunching under his feet.

‘Well that’s quite alright with me, Mister Spock. Just warning you, though, it might not be easy to get a decent meal around here if you can’t eat meat or fish.

’You are correct. It will not be.’

There was a pause, Kirk wanted to ask him why he was here, but he knew that would be too personal.

‘So, have you ever been a bushranger?’ he asked instead.

‘Negative. I suppose you are bushrangers. That does explain a lot.’

‘We are indeed, Mister Spock. And I suppose you are too now… well, maybe we could risk dropping you off at a small village somewhere.’

‘I have no need for that.’

They had been walking in an approximate circle for some time now, and they had reached their starting point. Kirk began to walk inward and Spock followed suit.

‘In that case, Mister Spock,’ Kirk said, his eyes agleam, ‘Welcome to being a bushranger. It’s excruciating. You’ll love it.’

The tips of Spock’s lips twitched and Kirk knew in that moment he’d give anything for the other man to smile fully. They kept walking.

McCoy, meanwhile, was taking inventory of his medical kit. It wasn’t much. He didn’t even have a stethoscope- he’d traded it for transport back when… but he wouldn’t think about that. He was out of Catgut, though he hoped he wouldn’t need it. He’d used the last of it for fishing rod string, although it was meant to be used for stitching skin. He had forceps, of course, and some medicines with dubious effects. Most useful of all, he had soap.

‘Hey, Doctor, can I help?’ It was Christine. He patted the ground next to him in welcome.

‘How are you holding up?’ he asked. She shrugged.

‘Chekov told me he had a cut,’ she said, deflecting.

‘What did you tell him?’

‘To clean it and stop whingeing.’

He laughed.

‘Excellent advice.’

‘That’s not what he thought. He’s playing cards, now, and sulking.’

‘And you didn’t want to join him?’

‘With your lovely company, doctor, why should I?’

‘Flatterer.’

Christine laughed.

'Do you have a stethoscope?' she asked.

'No. I lost it,' he lied.

By the time Kirk and Spock had arrived back, Bones and Chapel were drinking whiskey together and Chekov and Scotty were arguing over who had won at cards, whilst Sulu watched, a look of resignation on his face. It occurred to Spock then that this was now his future. The thought was somewhat unsettling- then he looked over at Jim Kirk, the young leader, and decided he didn’t mind too much after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to librarians everywhere. You guys are awesome! If it wasn't for researching in the library, this would be painfully inaccurate.
> 
> Please leave kudos if you enjoyed, like librarians or if you are a librarian and leave a comment if you think this is still painfully inaccurate or if you have anything else you want to say.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Blood, horses, discussions of drowning

Kirk was fine. Really. He’d only been accidentally shoved off his horse by an inexperienced rider and landed on some rocks and done something to his arm.

‘It’s alright, Spock, only a little scratch. I’ve had injuries a hundred times worse.’

‘That is what is concerning, Captain.’

‘Did you just…’ he winced in pain as the Vulcan bent his arm,’Did you just call me Captain?’

‘It seemed appropriate.’

Kirk groaned in pain again, then stood up, flexing his arm. Spock tried not to stare.

‘Did you just heal my arm by bending it’

‘I merely increased the pressure on…’

‘Sir, we’re all waiting for you and Mr Spock. Now isn’t the time for a chat,’ said Scotty. The others were a few hundred metres away. Kirk sighed, then wiped the blood onto his pants.

‘My apologies, Mister Scott. Alright, how about we try something else. You stay down there.’

He mounted the horse. They’d named her Lady Clementine for her reddish colour. He led Clementine to a fallen log, then beckoned to Spock. Spock used the log as a stepping stool and climbed onto Lady Clem. behind Kirk.

‘I’m surprised you haven’t ridden a horse before, Mister Spock. Well, grab on.’

Spock hesitated, then slid his arms around Jim’s waist.

‘Excellent. Now try to stay balanced. Giddy-up, Clem.’

‘Clem?’

‘Yes, her name’s Lady Clementine. Clem for short.’

‘That is an unusual name for a horse.’

Kirk laughed.

‘Well, you’re a man named Spock.’

Spock lowered his voice.

‘I am a Vulcan named Spock.’

‘Good point. Oh, and do you have your hat?’

‘Affirmative. My differences should be rendered invisible.’

‘Excellent. Oh, and if anyone asks, just say you’re Chinese.’

‘Not only do I not look Chinese, but the discrimination the Chinese face on account of their race is considerably worse than…’

‘You look Chinese enough to the Brits, and they’re the ones you need to watch out for. Except Bones, he’s alright.’

‘I was under the impression that gangs of bush rangers were generally Irish-exclusive. However, unless I am mistaken, only you and Miss Chapel are Irish.’

‘There was another.’

They reached the others and soon they were all riding- fairly slowly, but riding nevertheless. Spock tightened his grip on Kirk and leaned in. Clementine picked up speed.

‘Roger Korby was our leader. A smart man, kinder than you’d expect. He took me in without a second thought.’

‘What’s this about Roger?’ Christine rode closer.

‘Mr Kirk was telling me about him.’

A storm brewed on Christine’s face as she looked at Spock.

‘Oh. Did he tell you that if it wasn’t for you he’d still be alive?’

‘I am unsure what you mean.’

‘I mean that you, Mister Spock, were saved by Kirk, at the expense of my husband.’

She left.

_ Wow,  _ Kirk thought,  _ that was brash. _

‘Christine and Roger were lovers.’

‘Ah.’

‘And you… I… what do you remember happening before you drowned?’

Spock hesitated, then began to explain.

‘I angered a man with an impulsive action. He pulled my hat off, and as the crowd noticed my ears, then proclaimed that I was a demon. They attacked me as a group and put me into a state of shock,’ he said, somewhat shamefully, as Vulcans didn’t go into shock (humans did. Half humans did too), ‘They considered burning me at stake, I believe. They decided to weigh me down, tie my limbs with rope and drown me. Whilst underwater I decided to stop breathing whilst conscious- I could not control what happened whilst unconscious, of course, but I wanted to stop my lungs filling with water for as long as possible.’

  


He hesitated again. There had been more. A feeling of a warm, comforting presence. The same presence that was here now, in fact. Spock wasn’t naive. He knew that he was in a homophobic period in Earth’s history. He knew that even if he wasn’t, the odds of Jim Kirk returning his affections were astronomically low (he estimated 4.37%). He also knew that it was supremely, utterly illogical to feel attraction to someone he was not bonded to. But he couldn’t deny that he was.

  


Jim Kirk, meanwhile, was digesting the information that Vulcans could control their breathing.

‘Is that all?’ he asked eventually.

Vulcans don’t lie.

‘Affirmative.’

Half Vulcans can.

‘Well, we were in hiding and I blew our cover by saving you in front of the mob of people. I didn’t think they would recognise me, but… one of them must have. The next day, the police came. Roger stayed behind to give us time to escape. Chapel… has a point. But if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.’

‘Illogical. They were highly intoxicated and you are not particularly infamous. The probability of them discovering your existence was less than 2.7773 percent.’

‘That’s not 0 percent, though, is it?’

  


Christine fumed as she rode ahead of the others. That damn stranger, acting as though he was in charge. Why did Kirk insist on keeping him? His very speech patterns gave her a headache. She was so enraged, she barely noticed as it started to rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed. Please leave kudos and/or comments if you did. Have a great day.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: mentions of death, starvation and sickness.

They were low on food. They’d been traveling for days through bush and grassland, but they hadn’t found anything edible. Not even a sheep.

Jim stared at their empty basket of food, panic filling him.

‘Jim? Jim? Are you alright?’ Bones was saying, but he barely heard him.

‘I- I’m sorry.’

He backed off, slowly, into the bush land they had just come out of, before being swallowed by the darkness.

‘What in the blazes?’

Spock sighed. He’d been putting up a tent, but obviously there was something consuming McCoy’s attention.

‘Where is Captain Kirk?’ he asked. The others had accepted him calling Kirk Captain. Chekov had even started to do it himself.

‘He went that way. Something strange about it. He just… ran off.’

_ ‘He just ran off,’ Spock’s teacher T’ret explained to Amanda in less than perfect English. _

_ ‘It is unclear why.’ _

_ ‘We need to find him,’ Amanda had said- in Vulcan, looking up at T’ret defiantly. _

_ Spock curled up even more tightly from his hiding spot. He had to stay there. Until his last tear fell and he could wipe it off and cling to his emotionless mask once more. He couldn’t let them see. He couldn’t let anyone see. _

‘Are you alright, Spock?’ McCoy said, startling him back to the present.

‘I am adequate,’ Spock replied curtly and went in search of the Captain. His Vulcan ears picked up a slight rustling noise, which he moved towards, slowly. 

‘Captain?’

There was a sob. He looked around. Vulcans were slightly better at seeing in the dark than humans, but even so, he could only just make Kirk out.

‘Go back, Spock, I can deal with this.’

‘I am able to stay.’

‘Yes, but do you  _ want  _ to stay?’

‘To want is to feel emotion. However, I will help you with anything you require.’

He sobbed again.

‘You can’t. It’s… I’m being irrational.’

‘You do not typically behave in a more irrational manner than other humans.’

‘Gee thanks.’

‘What is it that you judge to be irrational?’

‘Do you really want to know?’

‘I believe I have answered that question.’

‘Fine. Sit down. Pull up… some grass or something.’

Spock sat cross-legged, opposite him.

‘When I was 13, there was a famine. Me and my family, along with some others had their crops wiped out. For weeks we were hungry. And then Kodos took charge.’

At this point, he started shaking. Spock was unsure of how to respond, and decided to move closer. He could still barely see Kirk, what with the dark sky, the cloud cover and the forest.

‘First he just starved us, then he… he killed us. My parents, and my brother S-sam and I couldn’t save them and I…’ he broke off into sobs again. Spock could feel his sadness, his intense agony, fear, humiliation. He desperately wanted to comfort him, to do anything he could to help him, but he didn’t know how. And then he felt it. Yearning. To touch and be touched. Hesitantly, (and extremely awkwardly) he put his arm on Kirk’s shoulder. He flinched in surprise, then leaned moved closer and leaned into it. 

‘I left with Kevin and Finnegan and Mary, but Mary was sick and she died before we could go anywhere and we were all starving, so hungry Spock, you have no idea. And Finnegan took charge- we didn’t get on- but we made it onto a boat, the first one we could find. After I ate again for the first time, I actually vomited. And running out of food? It’s scared me ever since.’

‘That is understandable.’

‘Really? I thought you’d find it illogical.’

‘I said it was understandable, not logical. The human race is seldom logical.’

Kirk laughed.

‘We should probably get back,’ he said.

‘I concur.’ 

‘I have to confess, though, I can barely see anything.’

‘ Vulcans have slightly superior night vision to humans. I am therefore able to assist you.’

Kirk chuckled nervously.

‘Alright.’

‘It would be easier if I carried you.’

‘What?’

‘However, if it makes you uncomfortable…’

‘No, it’s fine. I was just… surprised.’

Carefully, Spock picked him up in his arms, letting his warmth flow through him. He hadn’t realised how cold he had been until he’d felt Kirk’s warmth.

‘I’m sorry about this, by the way,’ Kirk said, as Spock carried him back. The side of his head got whacked by a branch a few seconds later.

‘I owe you my life. In comparison, this is trivial,’ Spock replied honestly.

‘Not to me.’

They fell into a comfortable silence.

They arrived at the grassland where they had pitched their tents about a minute later. It was lighter without the cover of trees, albeit marginally. They entered the tent together.

‘Are you cold?’ Kirk asked.

‘Slightly. However, my Vulcan physiology…’ he trailed off as Kirk put his arms around him. He marveled at their strength. He’d always been told that humans were weak, both physically and mentally, and yet Jim Kirk was anything but. They fell asleep in each other’s arms, ready to continue traveling the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there, it's your friendly neighborhood author. Sorry for posting a little late. I hope you enjoyed this chapter anyway. Please leave kudos and/or comments if you did- I really appreciate it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: racism

Uhura’s fire was small and smokey, but it was warm. She had toasted various roots and meat, which she ate leisurely. Her main problem was a lack of water, but she could hold out for now. She made a face as she ate- cooking had never been her strong suite, but it was better than starvation, and she had the added satisfaction of having made it herself. 

‘I swear, Keptin, I saw smoke!’

‘It could be a bush fire, Chekov, or some strangely shaped clouds.’

‘See, it’s over there, don’t you smell it?’

Voices. She began packing up immediately. She didn’t have many possessions- a dress that she’d cut short for convenience’s sake, boots, a knife and a thin blanket, plus the food. 

‘Hello? Is anyone here?’

She’d be able to hide in the smoke.

‘I told you this was a bad idea, Jim.’

‘We haven’t seen anything bad yet... Please, we don’t want to hurt you!’ he called out.

Uhura cursed in German, then, as an afterthought, in Swahili as well.

‘We have supplies to trade,’ said a woman. A woman. Maybe they weren’t a threat. And she could do with some supplies- a thicker blanket, perhaps, or some water. Still, she backed up into a bush. Not her best hiding spot, admittedly, but the smoke would shield her from them.

‘We should go.’

‘We need to stay. Even if it’s a fire, we might find food this way.’

 _They’re hungry,_ she realised. Probably not an active threat, then again, god knows how desperate they were

‘I actually do have food,’ she said quietly.

‘I was RIGHT!’

‘Shut up, Chekov.’

‘Um, Miss? Can we have some food please? We’re hungry.’

‘Pavel, You aren’t helping.’

‘What? I’m hungry. You’re hungry. They’re hungry. What’s wrong with asking for food?’

She sighed. She’d take her chances. Slowly, Uhura walked out of where the smoke was heavy.

‘Hello,’ she said. The men- and one woman- stared.

‘Greetings,’ said one of them, a tall man wearing a hat.

‘So, did you want some food? I heard something about a trade.’

‘Er… yes,’ said a brunette, who seemed to be their leader. He slid off his horse, which he was sharing with the tall man.

‘Thank you.’

‘Not a problem. It’s Uhura, by the way.’

‘Jim Kirk.’

They shook hands. She had a strong grip, whilst he was evidently trying to be gentle- quite unnecessarily, of course.

‘This is Mr Spock, Chekov, McCoy, Sulu, Mr Scott and Miss Chapel.’

He looked at her uneasily, as though expecting her to start throwing things or something. But she knew the routine.

‘Well, are you hungry?’

‘We have not eaten anything substantial,’ said... Spock, ‘In approximately a week, and we are low on water.’

‘A _week?_ Well, how about you trade your water for my food?’

‘It’s a deal,’ Kirk said. He passed her the bottle, half-full of water. She passed them some cloth, inside of which there was an array of cooked roots and meat. It was burnt, but none of them cared. 

‘My god, Spock, I don’t know if I can… ‘

‘Don’t use the lord’s name in vain, Jim,’ Bones interrupted.

‘Sorry.’

Spock looked at McCoy, half irritated and half amused, before turning his attention back to Jim Kirk, who was slowly raising a piece of meat to his dry lips. Even though he was starving, he could tell the meat was badly cooked. He chewed it slowly, willing it to stay down. He saw Chekov grab a handful.

‘Pace yourself, Pav,’ said Christine. He reluctantly put most back. Spock helped himself to a piece of root.

Uhura sat next to Sulu and after some deliberation, started talking in his native language.

‘ _Hey.’_

 _‘How do you know my language?’_ Sulu replied.

_‘I heard it a few months ago. Is my accent okay?’_

_‘It’s abysmal, but I can understand you.’_

Uhura laughed.

_‘Good. You guys are bushrangers, right?’_

_‘Yeah.’_

‘What are you saying, Uhura?’ asked Scotty.

‘Oh. You should probably know, I speak multiple languages.’

‘Really?’

‘Ndio- Yes.’

Scotty gaped. Uhura privately raised an eyebrow. She’d seen worse reactions to hearing about her talents- people almost always assumed she was incompetent. At least Sulu seemed alright.

‘ _You’re amazing at languages.’_

_‘Well… I’m certainly not bad.’_

_‘I suck at them. I haven’t even learnt english properly.’_

_‘I could teach you. Maybe.’_

_‘What do you want for payment?’_

_‘Protection.’_

_‘Why do you need protection? You seem to be doing fine.’_

_‘Sulu, if I’m going to stay here, I need to be protected. If one man wants to have his way with me, I’ll have a decent chance of fighting him off, but if two men try…’_ she trailed off and shuddered.

_‘You can trust them.’_

_‘Trust_ me _, Sulu, if you’d seen what I’d seen, you’d have a have a hard time trusting the kindness of white strangers.’_

Sulu paused, digesting this.

_‘Okay.’_

Jim Kirk watched Uhura with interest. She’d done what they’d all failed to do- talk to Sulu. How? She was obviously intelligent- more intelligent than he’d thought. Or was she? He looked again- she was an extremely proficient speaker, there was no denying it. Strange. _Still_ , he thought, _there were similar anomalies in other races._

‘So, where are you going?’ Uhura asked eventually.

‘We are attempting to find a farmhouse that is far away enough from the police force that we will not be at risk from them,’ said Spock.

‘On the run, are you?’

‘Affirmative.’

‘Spock!’ Kirk elbowed him.

‘It’s alright, I’m not too fond of cops myself. Hey, could I come with you?’

She was coming whether they liked it or not, but it couldn’t hurt to be polite. Sulu’s protection was much needed, and besides, she was getting bored and lonely from spending so much time solitary.

The others hesitated.

‘Let’s vote on it,’ said Kirk eventually. 

‘All in favour of letting Uhura stay, raise your hand.’

Sulu and Spock immediately raised their hands, followed by (the somewhat tongue-in-cheek) Uhura herself and Chekov (who’s other hand was full of food and was mostly copying Sulu). The others looked at each other, then they put their hands up.

‘Well that’s settled then.’

Uhura looked at them. A bunch of bush rangers, but ones that didn’t know their left from right in terms of survival. It was a wonder they’d survived a week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit more gen, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway.  
> 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Like, slight verbal conflict?

‘If you and Uhura share…’ said Scotty.

‘She and Sulu should share,’ said Christine.

‘What’s this about us?’ said Sulu and Uhura together, acting as though they hadn’t been listening to their conversation the whole time. 

‘Where did you come from? You almost stopped my heart,’ said Scotty.

Uhura looked at Sulu expectantly.

‘We... went on, uh, a walk,’ said Sulu. Uhura gave him an encouraging smile and Sulu couldn’t help but smile back. Uhura was a brilliant linguist and an even better teacher. She’d quickly worked out his previous problems and set to work addressing them.

‘Well, then. We were just discussing riding arrangements,’ said Scotty, taken aback at Sulu’s sudden speech. Uhura bit back a smirk at his expression. Eavesdropping was an effective way to learn a language- and find out things she wanted (or oftentimes needed) to know, and excuses for being caught were vital.

‘Great! I’ll share with Sulu, like I have with the beds,’ she said. She was aware of the implications, although they were totally unfounded. She did feel a close bond with him, but it was friendship rather than anything romantic. The others were still anxious around her, as though she could turn into a werewolf at any point, and she’d rather not deal with them.

‘Er… Christine, can you get the others?’

‘Alright, Mr Scott.’

Chapel walked off towards the tent area, where some others were playing cards. She could only find Chekov, though, who told her the other 3 had gone off on a bushwalk. The man looked bored, so she decided to take him with her.

‘Zanks, Chapel. They went… that way, I think.’

‘Brilliant.’

It was raining again, albeit lightly. And the wind blew it in their faces. They walked through a maze of bushes and gum trees.

‘So as you can see, the rain is causing...’

‘We know, goddamn it.’

‘I’m no man of science, Bones, we’re not as educated as you.’

‘I am aware, Jim.’

‘My apologies. It is often difficult to ascertain the level of your knowledge.’

‘Don’t get smart with me.’

‘We should probably get back,’ Jim interrupted.

‘Affirmative.’

It didn’t take long for Chapel to reach them.

‘Oh, hi Christine,’ said Kirk, brushing his hair out of his face. It was too long, in his opinion, but you weren’t likely to find a barber in the middle of an Australian forest.

‘Hello,’ she said, turning irritably to look at Spock.

‘You’re slowing us all down, Mr. Spock. Just stop talking for five minutes, will you? Your voice is monotone enough to give me a permanent headache.’

Taken aback, Spock looked at her. Kirk’s eyes narrowed immediately.

‘I was not talking to you, Miss Chapel.’

‘I know that. I wouldn’t talk to you if you paid me- I’m surprised anyone else can put up with you. Let’s go back, Pavel. We’ve found them.’

‘Er… you guys go on ahead.  _ Spock _ and I still have some... business to discuss,’ he said.

‘Alright.’

Bones nodded goodbye, looking a little confused. Kirk watched them leave, then turned to Spock, who was carefully examining the ground.

‘I just wanted to say… I’m sorry about Christine and…’ he looked over at Spock, who had gone very quiet.

‘Are you alright?’ he asked softly.

‘I am adequate.’

‘Don’t pull the “adequate” card with me, Spock.’

Spock sighed. It seemed like everywhere he went he was an outsider- that he could never truly belong in either human or Vulcan society.  _ Kaiidth.  _ It is what it is. But that didn’t make it any easier.

‘I just… I hope you know that the rest of us don’t think that way. I’m really glad you’re out here with us, Spock.’

‘I believe that you are overly optimistic about the tolerance of your colleagues, Captain Kirk.’

‘You doubt my abilities to judge character?’

‘Negative, I merely meant that you are an exceptionally kind person.’

‘Flatterer.’

‘Perhaps.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Sorry for the late update. I probably won't update next week because I've got heaps of stuff going on, so until then, LLAP.


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